


Tapioca

by RenEleanor



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU- Boba/Bubble Tea Shop, College Student Levi, Eren Is a Little Shit, Fluff, High School Student Eren Yeager, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 23:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4412423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenEleanor/pseuds/RenEleanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On that day, Levi received a grim reminder of the terror two idiots can inflict with a single question:</p><p>"You wanna make a bet?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tapioca

**Author's Note:**

> The boba/bubble tea shop depicted in this fic is modeled after a Quickly. For those of you who have never had the opportunity to visit a Quickly (poor unfortunate souls), here's a link to the menu for reference.
> 
> http://ep.yimg.com/ty/cdn/popeast/MenuBoard.jpg
> 
> And here is a link to their website
> 
> http://www.quicklyusa.com/

             The bell chimed.

             In flooded Levi’s worst nightmare: a mob of teenagers.

             “So this is the place, Sasha?”

             “Yes! Isn’t it _beautiful_?”

             “Babe, what are we getting? I’m starved.”

             “What the fuck is boba? It looks like extraterrestrial shit?”

_Dear God_ , Zeus, Buddha-.

             “Eww, Jean tha’s nasty!”            

             “Didn’t need that mental image.”            

             “How DARE you?

 _-if_ anybody _is listening, hear my prayer:_

             “Jeez, Sasha, I’m sorry! Just stop hitting me! The fuck do you _have_ in that purse?!!”

             “Boba. Is. Life!”

_Please, strike me down where I stand, and put me out of this misery._

             “I’m sorry! I’m SORRY! A’IGHT?!”

             “Damn right you’re sorry, Horse-face.”

             “Ugh- not you too. It’s annoying and repetitive as fuck, coming from Eren as is.”

_Odin? Osiris? Jimi fucking Hendrix?”_

              “I’m starting to see his point.”

             “Sasha! Just-! You-! I-! Er-! Ugghhh.” There was a moment of blessed silence. _Thank you O’ Mighty Hendrix. Amen._ “Oi. Speaking of the asshole, where is he?”

             Fan-fucking-tabulous. There were more of these pubescent horrors coming. Apparently the Gods, even one as powerful as Hendrix, could only temporarily hold back the tide of hormones.

             “Who?”

             “The violent,-” the bell chimed again “-ass-faced bastard. Where’s Eren?”

             “The fuck did you call me?”

             “Well, speak of the devil.”

             “You talking shit about me?”

             “Only true things.”

             “I swe-”

_$7.50 an hour is not enough to deal with this shit._

             “Hey!” His shout made the mob turn its head—it was practically a single entity. “Are you-” _disgusting little twerps_ “-going to order?”

             That morning Zackly had bitched him out again; he couldn’t afford another complaint.

             The first one to pop up was the brunette who’d been whacking the other boy with her purse.

             “Yep!” She said popping the ‘P’. “I’ll take a Fried Lobster Ball, the Waffle Fries, a Fried Turnip Cake, a Combination Sandwich and a Super Jasmine Milk Tea. Oh, and a water.” She was practically salivating as she ordered. “What do you want, Honey?” she asked turning to her boyfriend.

             Levi just stared at the girl, in confused dread. And stared. He even glance down as he tapped the buttons to put in her order. _Where’s she going to_ put _it?_

             “Umm, gimme a sec.” The boy leaned back rubbing his chin.

             Glancing at the menu that also listed nutrition facts, he could see that what she’d just ordered totally approximately 2,000 calories.  _How?_

             “Uh...I’ll take a Sesame Seed Ball... a BBQ Pork Sandwich... and a Nutella Milk Tea.”

              _How  is she so goddamn thin?_

             The horrifying girl paid in cash and she dragged her boyfriend off to a table where she sat waiting impatiently.

             As usual, the returning customers came first, while the virgins lagged behind. Thankfully the rest were less disturbing than Little Miss Eats-a-lot and her valiant knight Sir Cue-ball—Levi had never seen a head bigger or balder. A procession of blonds and brunets of various shapes and sizes placed orders of varying magnitude, and Levi internally groaned at the sheer volume of shit he’d have to fry.

             Why did Hange have to call in that favor _today_? _‘Just cover me for a few hours’, ‘You know mid-afternoon's usually slow’_ he mimicked internally. _‘It’ll be fine’ my ass._

             The horrendous, hackle raising screech of chairs and tables scratching against the linoleum, alerted Levi that as they dispersed, the little fuckers were ruining his precisely spaced furniture layout to form an appalling blob.

              As Levi glared down the mob (managing to catch the notice of a freckled brunet boy who shivered, turned pale and mumbled an apology before hiding behind another friend), he couldn’t help but overhear the last two stragglers. ‘Couldn’t help’ because they were _not_ using their inside voices.

             “So what _is_ boba?”

             “Dunno. I mean I’ve had it before. ‘S a’ight.”

             “What, did Mikasa buy some for you?”

             “Dude, that’s so racist! And you wonder why I don’t want her dating you.”

             “Calm your tits, sheesh.”

             “And, no. _Armin_ took me to get some at some little fair stand, last year.”

             “Okay, since you’re the expert Mr. Boba-man, what should I get?

_Deep breaths. In. Out. You will not tear the nice customers into tiny bits that can easily be disposed of in various locations around the city, because you want to keep your job._

            “Dunno.”

             “Some help you are.”

             Levi heard an “are they bickering _again_?” grumbled from the table conglomeration.

             “Fuck you. Look I had it, like, once. Armin ordered,”

             “The one day you aren’t Peter, Paul and Mary-ing and we need Blondie.”

             “Oh, I’m sowy wittle Jean-bo needs an adult to hewp him decide his lunch.”

_No tiny pieces. Keep job._

              “You’re a dipshit.”

              “Yeah?! Well you’re about as bright as a black hole, and twice as dense.”

              “Ha! Armin tell you that one?! Or you start googling ammo ?”

              “You can shut up!”

_Nope. Not dealing with this shit._

              “’Cause there’s no way you thought up that one by yourself.”

              “You know what?! I don’t need-“

              “Oi!” Levi finally barked, the two suddenly realizing they had an audience, and Mr. Boba-man slowly releasing Jean-bo’s collar. _Filter. Filter. Filter_. “I’m not cleaning nasty-ass blood off the floor. You wanna fight? Go outside.” All things considered, Levi was rather proud of his restraint.

              The two pushed themselves apart and crossed their arms, grumbling a bit and staring at the menu angrily.

              Of course the reluctant impasse lasted all of two seconds.

              “Red Bean Flirty Milk?”

             “Sounds like an insult to humanity.”

             “You’re an insult to humanity.”

“Five year old.”

              “Horse-face.”

              “You know you could think of something original occasionally.”

              “You know you could think at all occasionally.”

              “Are you guys done yet?” Called out muscly blond guy from the table.

              “Reiner, you should know by now: just ignore 'em,” Sir Cue-ball announced with a mouth full of chewed sandwich.

             “We’re working on it! Christ, how many things do they sell at this place?”

             “Wait, they’re numbered. Holy shit, there’s like 300 items.” _Genius, Jean-bo_

             “Wait, ‘Fried Mini Octopus’. So, wait. Those are babyoctopuses?”

             "Octopi,"

             "Actually it is octopuses. It's not Latin, it's Greek"

             "Oh ho ho, you're a regular Stephan Hawking."

             "Stephan Hawking's physics, dipshit. And I actually pay attention in class, occasionally."

             "Okay, whatever you say,  _Einstein._  We both know the only reason why you know that is Ms. Gallespi's legs."

             "You're an ass."

             Slamming his face against the counter-top repeatedly was sounding like a good life decision at the moment. Unconsciousness would be a blessing.

             “You too, man."

             "Maybe I'm fascinated with the word octopus. You don't know me." 

             "Look, you say octopuses, I say octopi. Tomato, tomahto."

             "Still, ugh, that’s so fucked. What monster eats babies for lunch?”

             “Obviously somebody has to, otherwise they wouldn’t be on the menu.”

             “But like who looks at this thing and thinks ‘Out of everything I could possibly order, I’m going to eat _babies’_.”

             “Dunno man. Why are there so many choices anyway? Like there’s no way somebody could try everything.”

             “I wonder if anybody has.”

             “Probably not. The only person stupid enough to try that would be you, Yeager.”

             “You mean I’d be the only person with balls enough to do it,” he snorted a little. “Get it? _Balls_ enough. As in, you know, the boba balls.” He made a loop with his thumb and forefinger, to indicate the boba, and held it up to look through it.

             Jean-bo just looked at him with disgust. Levi felt his pain.

             “No, I definitely meant stupid enough.” Mr. Boba-man practically growled. “And, I said ‘try it’ not ‘do it’. There’s no way you’d actually finish everything.”

             “Oh yeah? You wanna bet?”

 

 

_Oh Hendrix, no._

 

 

             “Pff. You actually wanna make a bet over it?”

             “Why not?”

             “You’re so stupid.”

             “Seriously, though.”

             “Why would I bet that?” Jean-bo said, rolling his eyes, and turning away

             “If I lose, you have my permission to date Mikasa.”

             “You have my attention,” he said snapping back to face the other. “Rules.”

             “I have to come here every day to try something, until I get through the whole menu.”

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no._

             “If you miss a day, I win. And you have to finish whatever you order.”

             “Fine.”

             “And you have to try _everything_. That means baby octopi.”

             “Octopuses! And, ugh, fuck. Fuck. Fine, you sadist.”

             “And hypothetically, if, by some miraculous, inconceivable turn of events, you manage to pull off the impossible, what do I have to give you?”

             “ _When_ I win, I get your car.”

             “What?! I’m not fucking making that bet!”

_Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes._

             “Come on. It’s way harder for me to win than for you to win.”

             “Still.”

             “You don’t even like your car. You regularly call it a ‘piece of shit’. And your parents hinted you’re getting a new one for graduation.”

             “Not worth it.”

             “I will no longer call you ‘Horse-face’-.”

             “Well…”

             “-and invite you over for both Thanksgiving and 3 days of Christmas vacation, when Mikasa’s home from college. Or you know if I last longer than that, some other equivalent quality time.”

             “Seriously?”

             Levi’s mind screeched to a halt.

             “She’ll probably turn you down anyway, but at least you’ll have the opportunity to be rejected.”

             “Excuse you. Your sister’s going to fall head of heals for me.”

             “That’s going to be difficult when she doesn’t even know you exist.”

             “Once again, you are an asshole.”

             “Not my fault you could never say two words to her.”

             “You didn’t exactly make things easy.”

             “Which would change if you win the bet.”

             “Hmm…”

             Levi had never felt more helpless. Zackly would rather unhappy if he pissed off a potential, year-long customer. But the thought of _every day_. With _this_ fucker.

             Then it came to him.

             “Hate to burst your testosterone bubbles, but that's three bucks a day for 300 days. You have $900?” The two once more remembered his existence, and twisted to face the register.

             “Huh” said Mr. Boba-man. “Yeah. Thanks man.” He turned back to the other boy. “There’s no way I can afford that shit—you know I’m saving up for college.” _Levi, you are one smart motherfucker._ “Alright, if I win, you also have to pay for everything.”

             Some days you just want to gouge out the universe’s eyes with both middle fingers.

             “Oh, come on.”

             “Don’t even. You know your job pays three times what mine does. And your parents are paying for college.”

             “Fine, but I want receipts. Like from. Every. Single. Day.  And if you’re missing one…”

              “Yeah, yeah. Alright, deal?” the Bane of Levi’s Existence spat in his hand, and held it out.

             “Eugh, what are you, nine?” the other boy griped, but mimicked the action and shook his hand. They both wiped their palms on their jeans.

             “A nine year old would have no use for your car.”

             “Just order the fucking drink.”

             “Fine, ass-wipe.”

             Digging into his pocket, the teen marched up to the counter and slapped down a nasty crumpled bill with the same hand that had just been saliva-d. Furrows deepened, creasing his face around his eyes in determination; his eyes, glazed with anger, shone like clear pools of molten gemstones; his voice was strong and commanding as he breathed out:

             “One. Blueberry Slush. With boba. Please.”

 

_Fuck my life._

 


End file.
